Ode of Laundry Machine **

Clorox - Gone for a week

I read the note Sock left on the table. It told me to give it to Breadward. I slipped the note under the door as to not disturb Breadward. A moment later the door opened to an angry Breadward. "You're really buying this? Huh, and to think you were the smart one." The door slammed inches from my eyes, the note fluttering to the ground. I could see Sock's tilt-a-whirl handwriting. 

That day was a dismal one. Grey dust bunnies filled the sky and I missed Sock dearly. What she said was wrong but I could tell she didn't mean any of it. The kids missed her too. I tried calling her but she wouldn't pick up. I turned to my computer. I would post her favourite inspirational quote and she would come home. She didn't. I thought my plan was fool-proof but I was wrong. Breadward was affected by Sock's words and only came down for dinner. To be honest, I felt rather sad for Breadward. I can't imagine what it feels like with no one to care for you but when someone does, they don't want you. I just hoped that when Sock got back, she was willing to mend our relationship with Breadward. Four days after Sock left, I tried to call her once more. This time, however, she picked up. "Hey Clorox," said a slurred voice from the other end.

It was Sock but she sounded a little off. "Y'know Clorox, I'm glad Anne killed herself! In fact, this beer just helps it make more and more sense!" Sock was drunk. "How many bottles have you had?" I asked. I heard a hiccup then she hung up. This was not the Sock I knew. Sock would never let herself go like this. I had to bring her back home. Before she hurts herself. I called her again and told her that I was on my way. I had left the kids with Breadward and hoped for the best. When I got there, she was passed out on the couch, bottles and bottles of beer surrounding her. I cradled her in my arms, kissing her forehead. She moaned, clearly not amused at my arrival. I shushed her. She was broken and I knew it. I brought her to the car and drove home, not bothering to check her out of the hotel. 

When we got home, I was delighted to see Breadward on the floor, playing with the kids. When he looked up, he got up abruptly and dusted himself off. Then, he sauntered upstairs and into his room. Sock tossed and turned when I set her down on the couch. Stewella and Jim kept poking her and trying to wake her up but I shepherded them out before they actually woke her up. When Sock got up, she looked around, clearly confused as to why she was back home. She sat up. "Why am I back home?" she asked, her hangover leaving dark circles under her eyes. I rubbed her "back" and she leaned up against me. "Sock, I know that you didn't mean to hurt Breadward, but you need to watch what you say and say it out of love, not out of anger." For The next few days, Sock did nothing but eat, sleep, and eat some more. 

It was obvious that Sock was diving further and further into depression. She ate less and less. I could tell she wasn't getting enough sleep either because she had dark circles under her eyes even after the hangover. Eventually, the liquor cabinet became empty. This was going too far and I needed to stop it before it got worse.

But could it get worse than this?